The berries on the rowan brightly glow
Against the green in bunches on the tree.
They'll feed the wandering birds in winter-time
When snow is deep and sun its warmth resigns,
Making these thieves, alert for fruit and seeds,
Unwitting partners in the rowan's spread.
The berries on the rowan, thickly spread,
Are never so inviting as their glow.
In autumn, birds refuse them and their seeds
Are left for months uneaten on the tree.
When winter brings starvation, taste resigns
And grosbeaks pounce on them at feeding time.
The berries on the rowan know no time.
Passive themselves, on wings of birds they spread
Wherever birds can fly. Their fruit consigns
Its bitter sustenance when food is low;
For this, whole flocks fly errands to the tree,
Then find new ground on which to drop its seeds.
The berries on the rowan bear the seeds
Of magic passed to us from olden time.
Against all evil spirits is the tree
On guard, but most of all its clustered spread
Defeats dark elves. They never pass the glow
Red rowans make, despite their dark designs.
The berries on the rowan are the signs
Of faith the tree has in its fruit and seeds.
The blood of life is red within their glow.
The bread of life is in the fruit that time
Will take into the maws of birds and spread
To resurrect from it a seedling tree.
The berries on the rowan are the tree
That every fall its energy consigns
To crowning boughs with clusters thickly spread
Of thin and tasteless fruit and pellet seeds.
This providence is somehow linked to time
And starving birds that glimpse a scarlet glow.
Each year when autumn colours glow, the tree
Puts forth its seeds and after that resigns
To time and chance the manner of their spread.